The Poetical Works of John Langhorne :: :: University of Virginia Library

In yonder green wood blows the Broom;
Shepherds, we'll trust our flocks to stray.
Court Nature in her sweetest bloom,
And steal from care one summer-day.

From him whose gay and graceful brow
Fair-handed Hume with roses binds,
We'll learn to breathe the tender vow,
Where slow the fairy Fortha winds.

And oh! that he whose gentle breast
In Nature's softest mould was made,
Who left her smiling works imprest
In characters that cannot fade;

That he might leave his lowly shrine,
Tho' softer there the seasons fall—
They come, the sons of verse divine,
They come to Fancy's magic call.

“What airy sounds invite
“My steps not unreluctant, from the depth
“Of Shene's delightful groves? Reposing there
“No more I hear the busy voice of men
“Far-toiling o'er the globe—save to the call
“Of soul-exalting poetry, the ear
“Of death denies attention. Rouz'd by her,
“The genius of sepulchral silence opes
“His drowsy cells, and yields us to the day.
“For thee, whose hand, whatever paints the spring,
“Or swells on summer's breast, or loads the lap
“Of autumn, gathers heedful—Thee whose rites
“At Nature's shrine with holy care are paid
“Daily and nightly, boughs of brightest green,
“And every fairest rose, the god of groves,
“The queen of flowers, shall sweeter save for thee.
“Yet not if beauty only claim thy lay,
“Tunefully trifling. Fair philosophy,
“And Nature's love, and every moral charm
“That leads in sweet captivity the mind
“To virtue—ever in thy nearest cares
“Be these, and animate thy living page
“With truth resistless, beaming from the source

“Of perfect ligh immortal—Vainly boasts
“That golden Broom its sunny robe of flowers:
“Fair are the sunny flowers; but, fading soon
“And fruitless, yield the forester's regard
“To the well-loaded Wilding—Shepherd, there
“Behold the fate of song, and lightly deem
“Of all but moral beauty.”

“Not in vain”—
I hear my Hamilton reply,
(The torch of fancy in his eye)
“'Tis not in vain,” I hear him say,
“That Nature paints her works so gay;
“For, fruitless tho' that fairy Broom,
“Yet still we love her lavish bloom.
“Cheer'd with that bloom, yon desart wild
“Its native horrors lost, and smil'd.
“And oft we mark her golden ray
“Along the dark wood scatter day.

“Of moral uses take the strife;
“Leave me the elegance of life.
“Whatever charms the ear or eye,
“All beauty and all harmony;
“If sweet sensations these produce,
“I know they have their moral use.
“I know that Nature's charms can move
“The springs that strike to Virtue's love.”

William Hamilton of Bangour.

Thomson.